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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22963444">The Boy from Kokomo</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LT_Aldo_Raine/pseuds/LT_Aldo_Raine'>LT_Aldo_Raine</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Year in the Life [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Band of Brothers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Character Study, Domestic, Family, Gen, Pearl Harbor - Freeform, Pre-War, Wartime</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 13:13:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,176</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22963444</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LT_Aldo_Raine/pseuds/LT_Aldo_Raine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>An announcement sounded that changed Floyd Talbert’s world forever.</p><p>  "<i>The Empire of Japan has just attacked Pearl Harbor, Manila. War has been declared on the United States of America</i>."<br/> </p><p>OR: Floyd Talbert is going to war. He just doesn't know it yet.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Year in the Life [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618882</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Boy from Kokomo</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThrillingDetectiveTales/gifts">ThrillingDetectiveTales</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I found contradictory evidence as to just how many brothers Floyd had. While most sources said five, only four were named. I also took liberty with their ages/order of birth.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Kokomo, Indiana</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>i.</em>
</p><p>The war arrived in Kokomo, Indiana, shortly after two o’clock in the afternoon on a warm and sunny Sunday.</p><p>Three of the four Talbert boys had gone to the cinema downtown to see the new Gary Cooper picture <em>Sergeant York</em>. Crowded in the dim theatre hall, the young Americans watched, enraptured, as the action unfurled upon the screen. Afterwards, the picture’s title flashed across the blackness, the audience already rippling with applause, before the projector abruptly stopped rolling. Thick, white lines split across the screen as a confused murmur came over the crowd of filmgoers.</p><p>Then, an announcement sounded that changed Floyd Talbert’s world forever.</p><p>“<em>The Empire of Japan has just attacked Pearl Harbor, Manila. War has been declared on the United States of America</em>.”</p><p>Silence rang out in the darkness.</p><p>Beside Floyd, his brothers Kenneth and Robert were tense, reflecting Floyd’s own sense of unease. It was as if on cue, their bodies seized up simultaneously, their collective breath trapped somewhere between their lungs and throat, as everyone waited—frozen in suspense. The seconds ticked by. Were it not for the blood pumping furiously in Floyd’s ears as he attempted to process the new and seemingly unfathomable information, he would’ve sworn he could have heard the steady tick of his own wristwatch echo in the silent cinema.</p><p>Somewhere up front, a woman muttered, “Dear God,” and then—a thunderous momentum swept through the aisles, a hundred voices speaking at once. When a young man stood to shout above the noise—<em>“We’re gonna get those Japs</em>!”—, his words acted as a match to kindling and a deafening applause burst forth.</p><p>“We’d better be getting home now.” It was Kenneth who turned to Robert and Floyd, face pinched. His stomach in knots, Floyd nodded, rising to his feet to follow his brothers out of the dark auditorium and through the crowd, which was growing more boisterous by the second. Though his mind was racing with the implications of the announcement—an enemy attack? a war against America?—, his older brother’s suggestion to return home had a slight calming effect.</p><p>If anyone would know what to do, it would be their father.</p><p>This thought alone kept Floyd moving forward.</p><p>
  <em>ii.</em>
</p><p>The Talbert household was, like most homes affected by the depression, quite the modest but homely affair. A single story coated in a faded yellow, the house smelled of ham and butter as the teenage brothers tumbled through their front door. Inside, Russell Talbert was stretched across the sofa, feet crossed at the ankles atop an arm rest, one arm draped across his eyes. His newspaper lay abandoned in the floor. At the kitchen sink, Nellie Talbert stood with her back to the door, a peeling knife in one hand, a bucket of wet potatoes in the sink before her.</p><p>“Mother,” Robert called. “—the radio.”</p><p>All of the Talbert sons had worked since they were twelve or thirteen, picking up odd jobs on farms in the rural areas surrounding Kokomo during the summer months and finding work around town, usually providing manual labor for various businesses, during the school year. That summer of 1941, Kenneth and Robert had both saved every penny they’d earned to buy the latest radio on offer in the Sears catalog—a battery-operated, “luxurious” stratobeam model. <em>Only a Few Dollars Down for a New World of Radio Pleasure!</em></p><p>Floyd shook his father awake as their mother flicked on the stratobeam, which whizzed slowly to life, and the Talbert family gathered together in the sitting room to listen. As Robert suspected, the Great Plays series on the NBC Blue network had been interrupted by a special broadcast by KTU in Honolulu, Hawaii. The radio’s speakers crackled, then—</p><p>“<em>…speaking from the roof of the Advertiser Publishing Company Building. We have witnessed this morning…battle of Pearl Harbor and the severe bombing of Pearl Harbor by enemy planes, undoubtedly Japanese.” </em>The connection was less than perfect, the reporter’s voice muffled by distance, static splintering the broadcast. As he listened, ears honed intensely, Floyd imaged that he could hear the rumble of airplane engines and the blast of battleship canons beneath the reporter’s words. Just the thought of battle sent Floyd’s heart racing, his palms growing damp as he rested them against his knees, craning forward, inching ever closer to the radio and the combat in Manila. “<em>The city of Honolulu has also been attacked and considerable damage done. This battle has been going on for nearly three hours</em>.”</p><p>Their mother gasped, tears filling her eyes as she turned away to hide the depth of her grief and horror.</p><p>“<em>It is no joke. It is a real war</em>.”</p><p>With a sigh, their father leaned back and dragged a hand across his face. Floyd’s gaze flickered briefly toward his parents before his hawk-like focus returned to the glow of the radio’s face once more. Quick though his glance was, Floyd didn’t miss the way his father’s hand captured his mother’s own with a comforting squeeze as he murmured, “We knew this was coming, Nel.”</p><p>“<em>The public of Honolulu has been advised to keep in their homes...There has been serious fighting going on in the air and in the sea. The heavy shooting seems to be—”</em> The reporter’s voice broke off suddenly, before he noted that the line had experienced a brief interruption, perhaps due to the bomb that had gone off some fifty feet from the KTO radio tower. There came a loud pop before his report continued. “<em>We cannot estimate just how much damage has been done, but it has been a very severe attack.”</em></p><p>The special broadcast ended shortly thereafter, though there would undoubtedly be dozens more to come in the days and weeks that follow. As in the cinema, a moment of silence lapsed as the radio’s noise fizzled to a low hum, each member of the Talbert family lost to personal musings on the first foreign attack on American soil and the greater implications of the devastation at Pearl Harbor.</p><p>It was Floyd who broke the silence, blue eyes darting between the members of his family, still huddled together around the stratobeam radio. “What’ll happen now?” He hated how boyish he sounded, how young and naïve, but he and his brothers had all been born during peacetime following the calamities of the Great War. Although they knew well the economic struggles of the depression, they were ignorant as to the realities of wartime aside from what they’d read in newspaper reports about the fighting in Europe and North Africa and the Soviet Union.</p><p>So, what <em>would </em>happen now?</p><p>“We’re going to war, obviously.”</p><p>“Now, Kenneth—” Their mother began, but she was swiftly interrupted be their father, “The boy’s right, Nel. Roosevelt has kept us out of this mess in Europe as long as he could. But now, much as I hate to say it, Hitler and Hirohito have gone too far. The man’ll be lynched if he doesn’t declare war on Japan.”</p><p>In the kitchen, the wind-up timer went off. The shrill ringing sent a jolt through the room, the Talbert boys nearly jumping like children, as their mother bolted to her feet. “Oh, the ham!”</p><p>The interruption served to break the foreboding atmosphere in the Talbert sitting room, the spell lifted as their father, too, rose to stand. “Kenneth, I believe its your day to tend the yard.”</p><p>Floyd wanted to scoff. <em>America had just been attacked, and pop was worried about the grass? </em>But Kenneth, being of a more levelled temper, merely nodded, mumbled “yes, sir,” and headed out back to retrieve the push lawn mower from the shed. Their father turned his gaze on his two youngest boys. “Robert, Floyd, you two best get on with your chores, now. I suspect momma’s going to have dinner on the table shortly. And you know how she hates it when we’re late to supper.”</p><p><em>There might be a war on in America, now</em>, Floyd thought. But in that house, his father was the supreme commander and the last thing Floyd needed was a court martial before dinner.</p><p>
  <em>iii. </em>
</p><p>The moon was full that night, and as Floyd laid in bed, his hands laced behind his head, he gazed at the ceiling in the dark and thought of sinking aircraft carriers and the Pacific Ocean and explosions of steel and fire and the Japanese islands and—</p><p>“If there’s going to be a war…” Robert’s voice echoed in the silence, rounding off the walls and sliding between the shadows. “I’m going to fight.”</p><p>“Me, too.” Floyd’s reply was automatic, his lips and tongue moving before his brain had caught up. As his words fell, drifting across the open floor to where his brother’s bed was pushed against the opposite wall, Floyd realized that his statement, however impulsive, was true. If his country was going to war, he wasn’t going to be a coward. He would stand and fight with the rest of them.</p><p>Even if he had no real notion of the severity of war.</p><p>Turning his head on the pillow, Floyd waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness and sought out his older brother’s face. “What do you think its like?”</p><p>“What? War?” Robert shrugged against the mattress. “I don’t know…you’ve heard pop’s stories, same as the rest of us.”</p><p>“Yeah, but…” Floyd’s tongue felt heavy in his mouth. How did he put into words the ramblings of his young, confused and eager mind? What did it <em>feel </em>like? What did war look and smell and taste like? How did you prepare for it? Where would the bloody battles take place? On some distant island in the Pacific? Heart pumping, Floyd snorted. “I don’t even know where Japan is.”</p><p>There came a beat, and then— “I didn’t either.”</p><p>Robert’s admission was accompanied by a soft rustle and the distinct click of a flashlight as a dull yellow glow suddenly illuminated their small bedroom. Floyd sat up as his brother splayed one of their father’s maps across the floor in the strip of space between their beds. Joining Robert on the floor, Floyd hovered over the map, fingers glossing the edges and asked, “When did you snake this?”</p><p>The dim glow of the flashlight betrayed the slight flush of excitement coloring Robert’s cheeks. “When pop was on the phone with Max.”</p><p>Floyd’s attention was immediately drawn to the small chain of islands seemingly adrift alone in the Pacific Ocean. <em>Hawaii </em>was written in a thin, black script above the islands, which were painted a soft purple, but there were no other details provided about the American territory. No cities labelled. No names given for each respective island. Floyd wondered which island was home to Pearl Harbor, if the Japanese had focused their attack on the naval base alone or if they’d struck all of the islands during their blitz, if the homes of natives had also been destroyed during the bombing or if the devastation had been reserved for military installations alone.</p><p>He wondered about the dead.</p><p>“How many do you think died?”</p><p>Robert frowned at the map. “Hundreds…thousands…pop said Pearl was our largest naval base.”</p><p>“Lot of good that did them.” The bitterness tasted odd on his tongue. Shifting his focus from grief to revenge, Floyd scanned the map until he spotted it. <em>Japan. </em>He ran his finger over the cascading islands. “It’s so small,” he whispered to the night. The Asiatic country was bigger than Hawaii, certainly, and quite so. But compared to America? Or it’s Chinese neighbor? When sized up next to the Goliath that was the U.S.S.R.? Japan was practically a runt.</p><p>And Floyd wanted to wipe it off the map.</p><p>“We’re going to get them. We’re going to get them good.”</p><p>Beside him, Robert nodded slowly, his agreement weighed down by the severity of that which the young brothers resolved to carry out. They <em>would. </em>They would get the Japanese and the Germans and the Russians and anyone else who stood in their way. They would kill—and possibly be killed themselves. There was no question about it.</p><p>Suddenly burdened by a realization as resolute as it was profound, Robert clapped a hand atop his younger brother’s shoulder. “C’mon, runt, let’s get to bed. Fold the map up, will ya?”</p><p>
  <em>iv.</em>
</p><p>The next day, the president addressed the nation.</p><p>As Franklin D. Roosevelt’s familiar warbling cadence filled their sitting room, the Talberts listened with bated breath as the president described a series of attacks carried out by Japanese forces all across the Pacific following their initial attack on Hawaii. Malaya, Guam, the Philippines, Wake and Midway islands—a surprise offensive, the death tolls of which were steadily climbing. As he listened to the exotic names rolling off the president’s tongue, Floyd’s thoughts returned to his father’s map and the dim glare of the flashlight. Had he seen those places? The Philippines, yes. Malaya, maybe. But where were the others?  </p><p>Reaffirming his role as Commander in Chief of both the armed and naval forces of the United States, President Roosevelt assured the American public that every measure was currently being taken to secure American defenses in prevention of a second attack. At the president’s declaration, Nellie drew a wavering breath and her children did not miss the way her fingers tightened their grasp around the folds of her skirt.</p><p>Hawaii being so far away, it had yet to occur to Floyd that a second attack was coming, that a further strike on American soil—maybe even on the mainland itself—was even possible. But the tension in his father’s shoulders and the purse of his mother’s lips spoke volumes. More so than the president’s own powerful assertions, the behavior of his parents confirmed that which Floyd already knew. America was going to war, and it was going to be a nasty, brutal affair. That the next time disaster struck, Americans would not read of it in the newspaper or hear of it in a radio broadcast; rather, they would know the terror intimately, hearing the details directly from the lips and in the letters of their loved ones who experienced it firsthand.</p><p>On a sunny winter’s day in Kokomo, the presidential broadcast was ended thusly: “<em>I ask that the Congress declare that since the unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December 7th, 1941, a state of war has existed between the United States and the Japanese empire</em>,” before the roaring applause of the president’s audience echoed harshly around the Talbert family.</p><p>“Do you think Congress will approve, pop?” The eldest of the Talbert boys, Maxwell Talbert had come home from Indianapolis early that morning, wishing to be closer to his family after he learned of the Japanese attack.</p><p>“Well, they ought to, don’t you think?” Floyd pressed, unconsciously scooting closer toward the edge of his seat as his and Robert’s conversation the previous evening shoved to the forefront of his mind. “I mean, we’ve got to strike back. We can’t just let—”</p><p>“<em>Floyd.</em>”</p><p>The young man’s jaw snapped shut at his mother’s warning, eyes cast downward at the beige carpeting.</p><p>“Pop?” Robert prodded.</p><p>All eyes were on the family patriarch. A veteran of the Great War, Russell’s gaze was distant, his tone heavy with an exhaustion his sons could scarcely imagine as he replied, “Roosevelt’s declaration of war will be approved within the hour. We are now engaged in another great war, boys…I suggest we all pray for God’s strength and guidance at the burden that now lays before our nation.”</p><p>
  <em>v.</em>
</p><p>Just after lunch, Maxwell received a telephone call from his roommate in Indianapolis who told the eldest Talbert sibling that the army and navy recruiting offices in the state capital were already swamped, lines winding out the doors and into the streets, as men and boys alike eagerly applied to serve their country, desperate to enact revenge on the Japs that had so cowardly betrayed their word and attacked good, honest Americans.</p><p>“Of course, they’re packed,” Kenneth replied when Maxwell shared the news. The brothers were gathered in the Talberts’ front yard. Rolling a much beloved football in his grasp, Maxwell had coaxed his brothers outside for a quick pick-up game—with no real intention of playing. The ball had merely been a prop, the boys using the pretense of an afternoon game for a chance at privacy, allowing them to more freely discuss the attack, the <em>war, </em>without their parents eavesdropping.</p><p>Floyd nodded in agreement with Kenneth’s statement as he slung an arm around the shorter man’s shoulder. “I don’t know a single fella that isn’t going to want to join up. Do you?”</p><p>A rumble of accord circled the gaggle of brothers before Maxwell, the hint of a grin playing at his lips, revealed his plan. “I’m going to go back today. Phil and Jackson are waiting so we can enlist together.”</p><p>“Shit,” Floyd hissed, jealousy and pride wrestling within his chest. He pictured it perfectly then, his brother cutting a dashing figure in an Army Service Uniform, pretty girls with coiffed curls and short dresses on either arm.</p><p>“You better not tell momma before you do it.” The warning came from Kenneth, who gazed at their brother with far too much weariness in his eyes for Floyd’s—or Robert’s, or Maxwell’s taste. But then, Kenneth always had been the realist of the pack. “She’ll never let you do it.”</p><p>“She won’t have a choice. I’m a grown man, Kenny, and as such, I am free to do as I please.”</p><p>Robert snorted, grinning at Maxwell’s foolish pride. There wasn’t a brother among them who believed a word of what he’d said. They all knew that if their mother wanted to dictate their every action for the rest of their lives, she damn well could. Beneath a pleasant smile and a gracious demeanor, Nellie Talbert was a force in and of herself.</p><p>“Go on and tell her then, if you’re so confident,” Floyd teased, wiggling his eyebrows. Maxwell responded by cuffing the youngest Talbert brother up against the back of his head and pulling him into a headlock. Dragging his knuckles across Floyd’s scalp, he warned, “I’m not saying a word to momma, and none of you finks will, either. Got it?”</p><p>Struggling in his brother’s grip, Floyd smacked and flailed, emitting a muffled, “yeah, okay, got it, lemme go!” until Maxwell’s hold loosened. Straightening up, Floyd paused long enough to catch his breath and glare at his older brother before he dove, tackling Maxwell where he stood in the yard. The pair tumbled into the freshly cut grass, Maxwell’s greater height and strength quickly making themselves known. But Floyd, for all his boyish charm and happy grins, was a scrappy kid when he needed to be. Relentless, he fought twice as hard, all pushy fists and pointy elbows, breath coming in double time from the physical exertion of holding his own against a giant like his eldest brother.</p><p>Kenneth and Robert shared a knowing glance. A slow smile lifted the corners of Robert’s lips. “Should we help him out?”</p><p>Though he sighed, there was an air of playfulness about the gesture as Kenneth conceded. “I suppose so.” –and thus the two middle Talbert children lunged at their older brother, offering the runt of the litter a brief moment of respite.</p><p>A rolling mess of limbs and hollered insults, the Talbert boys tangled in the front yard beneath the midday sun until their mother came outside to call them in for lunch—but not before she properly chastised them for horsing around on such a somber day. Tails tucked between their legs, the boys marched inside upon their mother’s order, and as they scooted in their chairs at the dining table, Floyd snickered to Maxwell, “Yeah, you’ll show mom alright. Really put her in her place, huh?”</p><p>Maxwell gave his brother’s leg a good thump under the table, Floyd flinching as he swallowed back a yelp, and warned, voice low and deadly serious, “If you utter one word about this to momma, I’ll tell her all about those magazines in your mattress.”</p><p>Needless to say, when Maxwell Talbert returned to Indianapolis late that afternoon and promptly visited the army’s recruitment center, his two best friends in tow, Floyd—and the rest of his brothers—had maintained a sworn silence. Their parents remained unaware until it was far too late.</p><p>
  <em>vi.</em>
</p><p>Given the influx of new recruits, it was the first of January before Maxwell received a placement for basic training and finally confessed to his parents what he’d done, much to their despair.</p><p>By March, half of the men of age in Kokomo had enlisted. Every day, the Talbert boys listened to the radio announcements, swapped information gathered by word of mouth, and tracked the numbers, both local and nationwide. As the weeks dragged on, the class sizes at Floyd’s school dwindled dramatically as his classmates disappeared into every branch of the armed forces, though the army and navy were largely favored by local boys.</p><p>Then after the U.S. air raid on Tokyo in mid-April, Kenneth followed in his older brother’s footsteps and joined the army, once again shaking the foundation of the Talbert household as he inspired his younger brothers and incensed his parents in a single fell swoop.</p><p>Though Russell and Nellie were equally distraught, their mother’s distress was, perhaps, more visible.  </p><p>Russell knew the horrors of war intimately, his back and calves marred by trench warfare, his memory and mind clouded with his friends, the men who fought so bravely beside him, only to die violently in the muddy fields of a nation that was not their own. Not only had Nellie lost both of her brothers to the war in France, but she had spent the last twenty years living day in and day out with the repercussions of that damned conflict. She was there to comfort her husband when night terrors plagued his sleep, to massage the tender muscles of his back and legs when they cramped, strained from injuries gained in the trenches. Of course, in those first days after the war ended—they called it a victory, but she had a hard time letting the word form on her tongue—, Nellie had attended so many funerals. Funerals of family members, friends, and neighbors.</p><p>Nellie Talbert had no intention of attending the funeral of one of her sons.</p><p>
  <em>vii. </em>
</p><p>When he graduated high school that May, Floyd found work with Robert for the Union Carbide company at Haynes Stellite in Kokomo. For nine hours a day, the young brothers cast superchargers for airplane engines, which were now being ordered en masse in support of the newfound war effort. As their mother so loved to point out, Robert and Floyd were doing necessary work, <em>critical</em> work for the Allies—and it was this thought alone that kept them both from leaving the factory and marching all the way down to the state capital to join up.</p><p>For nearly three months, Floyd tried to fool himself. Beneath the weight of his father’s tortured gaze and his mother’s damp eyelashes, Floyd attempted to convince himself that <em>this was enough. </em>Building engines that could sustain the heat necessary for America bombers to rise above anti-aircraft fire—it was honest work, and sure, the Allies weren’t likely to win the war without advanced aircraft.  But when he attended Kenneth’s graduation ceremony for basic training, or when he received a letter from Maxwell postmarked by the military, or when yet another one of his neighbors informed their family that a son, a cousin, a grandchild had enlisted—Floyd knew he was going to be miserable until he was in a uniform with a rifle in his hand, as was his duty.</p><p>“Did you hear…?”</p><p>Sandwich halfway to his lips, Floyd paused. Eyebrow quirked, he asked, “Hear what?” Robert’s frown sent a terrible shiver down the back of Floyd’s neck. “Not Max—”</p><p>“No, no, God no.” His brother was quick to shake his head. They were on break at the factory, one of two fifteen minute breaks a day, and the pair of young Talberts were sat with a few buddies of theirs from the floor, eating lunch and smoking cigarettes like they all weren’t tired and aching and yet still yearning for <em>more. </em></p><p>“Did I hear what?”</p><p>“Donny enlisted.”</p><p>Floyd’s stomach dropped. No way. No <em>fucking </em>way. There was no way in hell that Floyd’s best friend on the whole goddamn planet had enlisted and <em>hadn’t told him. </em>Floyd’s enraged expression must have communicated as much because Robert sighed and elaborated. “It’s true, runt. Charlie heard it from his mother.”</p><p>On cue, Charlie pulled the cigarette from his mouth, flicking the ashes as he did so, to reply. “My ma is in some bible group with Donny’s ma. Said he signed up last night. The Marines, I think.”</p><p>“The Marines?” The scandal in Floyd’s tone was downright tangible. “What the hell?”</p><p>“Thought you’d want to know.” Sighing, Robert finished the rest of the water in his thermos before he stood and lost his gaze on the horizon. A beat lapsed before he nodded. “Right, back to work, boys?”</p><p>There came a murmur as a few of the fellas stood to follow Robert back inside, but Charlie wanted to finish his cigarette and Floyd was still too fuming to process the news, much less return to the floor. He waved Robert ahead, and after a moment, his older brother conceded, disappearing inside the factory’s gaping entrance.</p><p>Not usually the one for small talk, Charlie took a long drag on his cigarette. When he released his next breath, smoke bellowed from his lips in great plumes, curling upward and drifting away on the wind. Floyd watched the gray tendrils dissipate, musing faintly if cigarette smoke looked anything like the smoke that lingered after heavy mortar fire or after a shell dropped. But unlike his older brothers—and now his best friend—Floyd had no conception of the realities of war aside from those which he read or heard about in the news.</p><p>He snorted bitterly at the thought.</p><p>“Hey, look, don’t be mad at Donny, alright?”</p><p>Floyd frowned at Charlie. “What do you care?”</p><p>“M’just saying. The kid probably didn’t say anything ‘cause he didn’t want you to feel bad about not being able to join up.”</p><p>A flare of defensiveness seized Floyd, and before he realized it, the youngest Talbert was on his feet, fists curled for a fight. “Who said I can’t join up?”</p><p>Charlie’s lips twitched into a smirk at Floyd’s newfound sense of bravado as he watched the teenager puff his chest and square his jaw. Still, he liked Robert alright and didn’t want a fight with the guy’s kid brother. Hands raised in surrender, Charlie took another draw from his cigarette. “Sorry, didn’t mean nothing by it. I just…well, I assumed you were 4F or something.”</p><p>Confusion and anger battled for dominance over Floyd’s features. “<em>What? </em>But—why?”</p><p>“’Cause you haven’t enlisted,” Charlie said simply. “Every guy that I know that <em>can </em>fight is signing up. You’re not in school anymore, so I figured…but hey, man, it’s not any of my business.” Rising from his seat, Charlie dropped his cigarette to the ground, stomping out the burning cherry with the toe of his work boot. He clapped Floyd on the shoulder as he passed. “C’mon, we better get back in there.”</p><p>The last thing Floyd wanted was to go back to work, preferring to go home and lick his wounds, instead. Or maybe hunt down his best friend and demand answers. But he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Donny had enlisted. He was leaving—and Floyd was staying right there.</p><p>
  <em>viii.</em>
</p><p>For the next two weeks, Floyd couldn’t escape his conversation with Charlie.</p><p>The guy was right—Floyd was able-bodied, and he had completed his schooling, so <em>why wasn’t </em>Floyd at boot camp, gearing up to fight the Japs? Sure, his parents didn’t want him to go, but Floyd was eighteen years old. He was a grown man, for Christ’s sake. And like Maxwell had said, as a grown man, Floyd was free to do as he pleased.</p><p>So, what was stopping him from enlisting?</p><p>After a fortnight of wondering, Floyd realized the short answer: his mother’s heartbreak.</p><p>“I have to do this, you know.” He told her one night, the pair gathered around the small breakfast table beneath the bay window in the kitchen. It was late, moonlight spilling inside around the drapes, casting shadows about the room. The rest of the family had long gone to bed. Fingers curled around a half-empty cup of tea, Nellie’s lips pulled into a small, sad little smile. Her reply was whispered to the night, “I know.”</p><p>Guilt seized his heart. Floyd reached cross the table and took his mother’s hands. “I’m sorry, momma.”</p><p>Nellie pulled one of her hands free to cup her son’s cheek. “Oh, Floyd…my baby boy…”</p><p>She fell silent. Honestly, what more was there to be said?</p><p>
  <em>ix.</em>
</p><p>The office was hot, the August heat downright stifling in the cramped quarters. All around Floyd there was great commotion. Everything felt urgent, important. The atmosphere was electric, everyone charged with purpose. Floyd found it intoxicating. He <em>wanted </em>that. He wanted to be important, to make a difference. My God, he just wanted to <em>matter. </em></p><p>Knees bouncing restlessly as he sat in the recruitment office at Fort Benjamin Harrison in Indianapolis, Floyd couldn’t take his eyes off of the poster slapped to the wall above the water fountain. Tall and proud, a soldier stood before a handsome looking aircraft. Across the top in bold, red lettering, Floyd read the word <em>Airborne. </em>He’d never heard of the Airborne, and he didn’t know much about flying except that the very concept excited him. A hand-typed note was tacked to the wall beside the poster, declaring that the special army branch paid $50 more a week and that it was exclusively volunteer only. Perhaps that’s what the slogan at the bottom of the advertisement meant—<em>The Finest in the U.S. Army. Be the Best of the Best. </em></p><p>Though all of Floyd’s brothers had all enlisted in the infantry, the Airborne poster had intrigued Floyd enough that he inquired about it during his intake process. Quickly, he found himself on the receiving end of a well-practiced pitch that involved words like “paratrooper” and phrases like “specialized light infantry division” and “spearhead of the Allied assault.” Just a young boy from Kokomo, Floyd had to admit to himself that the idea of jumping out of an airplane sounded ludicrous—and <em>thrilling</em>.  </p><p>Fighting a grin, Floyd couldn’t help but ask, “Just what does a fella have to do to get <em>that</em> job?”</p><p>
  <em>x.</em>
</p><p>Two days before his nineteenth birthday, Floyd M. Talbert enlisted in the United States Airborne for a rendezvous with destiny—he was going to be a paratrooper.</p><p> </p>
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